


Shurley's Divine Creations S.A.

by BerenicePyke



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Attempt at Humor, But With Angst ('Cause I'm Not A Good Person), Dean & Sam Are Dorks, Dean Winchester Has a Cat Allergy, Everybody Is Silly Af, F/F, F/M, Gabriel & Sam Winchester Friendship, I Tried, I'm Sorry, Lucifer Real Name Is Samael, Lucifer isn't so bad, M/M, Michael & Raphael & Lucifer & Balthazar & Gabriel & Castiel Are Brothers, Michael is a Little Shit, Minor Castiel (Supernatural)/Other(s), Minor Charlie Bradbury/Gilda, Minor Dean Winchester/Other(s), Not Beta Read, Parent Chuck Shurley, Past Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Please Don't Hate Me, Quite Focused On The Shurley Family Dynamics, Raphael is a Little Shit, Sam Winchester Has Puppy Dog Eyes, Slightly Based On "The Office" (And Others Comedy TvShow), We Die Like Real Villains (With Lots Of Shame & Full Of Regrets), i blame quarantine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:46:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23857819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BerenicePyke/pseuds/BerenicePyke
Summary: "An office is a place where you can improve yourself."Nobody believes it.They all get stuck.And now Dean has to deal with dumbasses coworkers, hours of chaos, his ex-boyfriend and more bullshit.No, this isn't a job; it's a goddamn curse!**They say that nothing in this world is guaranteed, but Gabriel knows that there are exceptions and, one of them is the fact that Castiel's orbit is naturally attracted to Dean's gravitational force.And, for what Gabriel knows about life itself, that's enough to make him become a teenager devoted to romance garbage, soulmates, as they call it. And whenever he looks into his brother's eyes when he speaks about Dean and everything in between, he sees sparks coloring the blue with the purest love that Gabriel has ever seen.**He leaves the family discussion scene, even too routine, dragging his younger brother with him; fingers tightened around Castiel's left arm.It was like this since childhood.And sometimes, just sometimes, it would be nice if this were not the only accurate picture of their family, a family that has never been one.
Relationships: Balthazar & Castiel (Supernatural), Castiel & Chuck Shurley, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Crowley & Lucifer (Supernatural), Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Gabriel & Lucifer & Michael & Raphael (Supernatural), Kelly Kline/Lucifer (Supernatural), Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Kudos: 6





	1. Just Another Normal Day

**Author's Note:**

> I'm genuinely sorry for this shitty story.  
> I don't know; I blame it on quarantine.  
> It's my first fanfiction here, but that's not an excuse for what I've done...anyway, sorry for my many mistakes, but I'm not English and writing in Italian isn't the same as writing in English; now I know.  
> I had to warn you: characters are out of character, but just because it's necessary. What I will like to try here is an attempt of comedy (even though I'm usually not a funny person) and in comedy tv-series, many aspects of the characters' personality are often exaggerated, so that's what I've tried to do. Basically, I've made everyone more silly and overacted.  
> Please don't hate me, 'cause I'm fucking scared right now!

_"Hell's waiting for you!" _

_"Fuck, no!" _

He sighs, shaking his head. Why does it have to be him? 

Everybody hates to go down there, the underground floor is chaotic, loud, and cold, like the North Pole, but without the cute animals, just a bunce of workers that pretend to be colleagues.   
None of them is even slightly friendly, they usually stare, grumble something, sinister laughing among themselves, and make everything to make you feel the most uncomfortable possible. 

Someone, more than ten years ago, called them demons, and since then, even after countless workers changed, everyone keeps calls them that way.  It suits them, and they don't seem to care at all. 

He sighs again. 

_"Do I really?" _

_"Sorry, dude, it's your turn!" _

She points out the calendar, the day of today red marked, with his name signed near it. Last month was Charlie's turn; now it's up to him.   
He can't escape. 

_"Fuck!" _

That's all he says.  
Leaving his working station, like a dog beaten, walking sadly toward the elevator, waving a dramatically theatrical goodbye to his coworker like he's marching straight to dead. 

The ambient music in the elevator makes everything worst, it's awful, the worst songs he ever heard.  He watches the white light indicate the floors, first and then ground level and then underground, -1. 

The metallic doors open. 

Welcome to Hell. 

How the fuck they manage to work with such low lights? It's almost dark, and the loud sound of machinery it's painful to ears.   
Dark blue neons guide him to the Devil's office. (the same guy who named the workers "demons" came out with these nicknames too. Everyone uses it, even the so-called Devil)

He wonders if the color of the lights it's something necessary for the productions, then he remembers that they assemble material for recreation areas and park architecture, so there aren't any reasons to keep this damn place so dark except for the selfish personal taste of the boss. 

The stairs that lead to the Devil's office are reddish iron; between one step and another, there is enough space to see the ground, the office has a large window overlooking the workers below; clearly, Satan had wanted a high and complete view of the factory. 

Peering carefully, he doesn't seem to see anyone inside.

Did the Devil go on break? One of those long all day, for which he's famous?

He pushes the door, looking in slowly. He clears his throat, but the words get brutally intercropped from a scream that resembles a warrior roar. 

Satan's suddenly pop-up from behind the desk, a kind of improvised blowpipe, made from a plastic pen, squeezed between the lips, from which a paper ball spits out, dangerously brushing the victim's blond hair. 

_"WHAT THE FUCK!?"_ obviously he shouts out, _"why the fuck you throw paper balls!? Is this saliva!?"_

What are they, five years old kids? Are they in a kindergarten?

_"SHUT UP, WINCHESTER!" _

Someone shouts back at him, from behind a black armchair next to the window.  
Another paper ball flies over the air, squashing against the bare wall behind the black oak desk. 

_"I'M THE ONE IN CHARGE, HERE!" _

_"OH, PLEASE! YOU CAN, AT MOST, BE THE GUARDIAN OF THE DOGS DOWN THERE!" _

One more paper ball, the Devil as changed his position, now is behind the half-open door.  This time a pillow is the victim of the attack.

Dean's eyes see a cemetery of salivated paper balls, interspersed on the gray tiles. 

Disgusting. 

He steps back, shouting again.

_"ARE YOU TWO ABLE TO BE ADULT? OR IS IT ASKING TO MUCH?" _

Maybe that's why his coworkers tend to send him down in Hell.   
He isn't afraid of that two dumbass children in the shape of adults. But nothing, trying to be listen to them its time wasted. 

He steps out, energetically closing the door. 

War cries still reverberate even outside. 

_" I thought we weren't worthy of your company." _

A sarcastic voice comes from behind him, it's annoyed familiar, and so he turns around. 

_"Meg" _

_"Dean" _

None of them are happy to meet, it's evident in the grumpy intonation. 

She has a massive amount of papers and files in her hands. He grins vaguely satisfied noticing that, after all these years, she's still stuck as secretary; the curse has hit even her.   
A little victory, kind of. 

_"Need last month's sales list and details about that new stuff, the one released last week." _

He tries to seem more professional possible, Meg twists her nose, puffing away a lock of hair from her eyes. 

_"Buried somewhere, here." _

_"Well, so, find them." _

He sneers again, uninterested in the difficulty that Meg will have.  
She knows she needs a desk to do so, as well as she knows that in there, there's a childish war.   
Dean moves slightly, opening the door with false gallantry.

_"Ladies first." _

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees paper balls flying like crazy airplanes, and Meg inhales, already bothered and nauseated.   
She steps inside, clearing her throat. 

_"I have t-" _

She's got no time to finish the sentence; a paper ball flies straight at the corner of her mouth.   
Dean doesn't even try to stop the laughs; he would never think that a visit to Hell could be so pleasantly satisfying.

A shiver shakes Meg's shoulders, slowly she throws the paper ball on the ground, wiping off the saliva residues.  
She closes her eyes, uttering in a disturbingly, calm voice.

_"Which of two?" _

_"Him!"_ \- _"Him!"_

They both say, synchronously, even pointing to each other.  
Two children, standing up straight in front of the desk, caught in fragrant by the teacher. 

_"I'm not paid enough to deal with you, two idiots!" _

She exhales, annoyed, heading towards the desk.   
Even Satan and the vice King of Hell roll their eyes to the ceiling at her annoying presence; this speaks volumes about Meg sympathy.

She starts to divide documents, searching for the ones required by Dean.   
The Devil's frowns, watching the desk.

_"What's this?" _

_"Work,"_ she says flatly, _"something that none of you knows."_

_"All work and no play make Luci a dull boy." _

He jokes, giggles like the kid he is, throwing another paper ball, this time with his right hand, at Crowley. 

_"as if Luci weren't always a dull boy." _

Crowley teases, responding to enemy fire.   
Meg is so done with them and for the first, and only, time Dean agrees with her. 

_"Here,"_ she hands him a stack of papers _"listen, dull boy one and dull boy two, those are the month's sales and the weeks' orders."_

She points out, forming two stacks of documents.

_"already checked and cataloged, just to be signed, do you think you can do it? Too demanding?" _

The Devil, unnoticed, mocking her. 

_"We're short of pens." _

Obviously! They used it to build blowpipes.   
Meg inhales, on the verge of a nervous breakdown, while going to the exit, muttering something. 

_"I don't sleep enough for dealing with all this bullshit!" _

_"Oh, poor thing!" _

Dean ironically whispers, a mistake, it's evident in the glare that Meg addresses him. 

_"You know,"_ the gaze changes into malicious arrogance _"it's your boyfri-oh sorry, ex-boyfriend's fault."_

Voice now so loud that everyone in the room can hear it.   
Words get stuck in Dean's throat, blood boils in his veins, he should argue, but he takes too long and Meg pompous leaves.

 _" _ _ You need some water? _ _ "  _

Crowley's voice is annoying as always, now even more, if it's possible. 

_" _ _ Ya know, _ _"_ Satan insensitive chuckles, _"to apply to burned area?"_

_"Fuck you, both!" _

Middle finger in the air, he tightly grabs the handle, stepping outside.   
Closing the door firmly behind him, he hears the Devil shout.

_"I forgive you, 'cause you still my favorite, on the list of my brother's ex!" _

Bastard.   
That's the last time that Dean lets himself fooled, no more Hell for him!

****

_"Where's my laptop?" _

_"Why you asking me?" _

_"Don't play dumb!"_ he says, slowly wording, _"where is my laptop, Gabriel?"_

_"Dunno,"_ the other replies, _"maybe from the top of your gigantic height, you may not see the desk well."_

Sam snorts, rolling his eyes.

_"Isn't there." _

_"Check the break room, then." _

Gabriel vaguely gestures, not paying attention to his coworker, to concentrate on browsing through Google, searching who knows what kind of stupid things.  
Probably some prank or magic tricks to play at the next important meeting, with the representatives of Lawrence Recreations Department. Hard to believe, but a few of them find Gabriel's childish attitude funny enough not to report him to their Big Boss.

Sometimes Sam wonders if being eternal kids isn't part of this family business, given that even the other brother, knows as The Devil, it's not better than Gabriel.   
Well, as a matter of fact, the Big Boss, too, could appear a bit childish sometimes. In Sam's modest opinion. (and the rest of the coworkers)

_"Listen,"_ he exhales, _"I know its crazy to believe, but some of us work!"_

_"Now you're offending me,"_ he rests his right hand to the chest _"I'm working too!"_

_"Oh, really!? At what?" _

Sam arch an eyebrow, crossing the arms, waiting for the predictably silly answer. Gabriel only turns his computer towards him, showing him a playlist of videos from youtube.

_"Parkour?" _

He sighs, not even too upset, just very resigned.

_"Parkour!" _

Shouts his coworker, moving his hands like a karate wannabe.

_"Okay, fine,"_ why does he keep talking with him? _"I don't care, but before you die falling from the roof, which it'll be a blessing for all of us, give my laptop back!"_

_"You're so boring, moose!" _

Sam squints his eyes, inhaling patience, trying to ignoring that stupid name.  
Crowley's fault.  
You go one, just one damn time, down in Hell, and you find yourself stuck with a nagging nickname.  
Dean is right; this isn't a job. It's a curse!

 _"Plus, we both know is a lie,"_ Gabriel points out, _"you'll be the first_ _ to cry like a fountain at my funeral _ _ " _

To be fair, maybe yes.  
In the end, Sam knows that this place, this job and most of the other coworkers, would be far less bearable without an ally, kind of a friend, even if he may be childish, sometime.  
So he shakes his head, hiding a small smile, trying to reply something when a familiar voice is coming from behind him.

_"Oh parkour,"_ the voice says, excited _"I tried once, I've failed...anyway, is this your laptop, Sam?"_

_"Where did you find it?" _

_"It was in the break room." _

He explains, his forehead frowns a little seeing how Sam is watching him confused.

_"Yes, it's is, it's is! Thank you, Garth". _

He kind respond, give him a light smile, turning then towards Gabriel, who's trying to repress a grin.  
Honestly, Sam doesn't remember when, or why, he's gone to the break room, and he's still convinced that it was his colleague who put it there.

_"No problem,"_ Garth smiles back, giving him the laptop, even friendly, making fun of him, _"but pay more attention next time."_

_"Yeah, sure! Thanks again!" _

He forces a smile, heavily sitting on the chair, putting the now found laptop at the center of the wooden desk, who is facing Gabriel's own.

_"See? Not guilty" _

_"No proof." _

Sam doesn't even lift the head, tapping on the keyboard.

_"You owe me an apology." _

Sentences Gabriel, springing to the back of the chair, pop music loudly coming from his computer, mixed with males screaming and laughing.

_"Turn down or use the earphones"_ Sam sighs, _"it's annoying."_

_"You're annoying!" _

Gabriel reply, mocking him while mimicking a stupidly severe face, but he pandering his coworker, silencing the audio.

****

_"Tell me it's not a meow, what my ears hear." _

_"It's not" _

It is.

_"Castiel!" _

The voice isn't high, but it's still sufficient to make it clear that this is an irritating warning.

_"How many times do I have to tell you!? This is an office, not an animal shelter!" _

Here we go again.  
Castiel exhales, slightly moving more close to the black pine wood desk, trying to hide the small cat which is roll up on a pillow, the pillow that was previously on his chair.

_"You don't know where it cames from! It may have diseases, fleas, or ticks!" _

_"But I do know. She, it's a she"_ he replied, like it's something obvious _"cames from the street, to be precise, from the crossroads near the donut shop, next to the library, half an hour's drive from here, where the traf-"_

_"ENOUGH!"_ his superior, which coincidentally is even his oldest brother, is now pissed off _"I don't give a damn if it's a he, a she or whatever, I want that damn lots of fleas out of here!"_

_"Now?" _

Castiel asks, almost seem irreverent, but frowns as if he's trying to understand the meaning of the sentence.

_"Yes, now!" _

His superior points out, eyes angry.  
And so Castiel stretches his arms down the desk to gently grabbing the small withe/orange furball and then rising from the chair with the cat softly close to the chest.  
He gives her some sweet caress while he walks towards the glass door, intending to leave the office.

_"What are you doing?"_ his brother's voice is clearly confused, _"where do you think you're going?"_

_"At home,"_ he innocently replies, _"as you requested, I'm taking the cat out of the office now, I'll bring her home"_ and then, softly, he adds, looking the furball _"gonna call you, Melissa."_

For a brief moment, his superior doesn't know how to reply; he's not even sure of what to do. Then he shouts, so loud that everyone in the building can hear him.

_"COME BACK HERE IMMEDIATELY!" _

Castiel stops.   
Turning around, puzzled glance and hands still caressing the cat, recently baptized Melissa.

_"you mean-" _

_"NOW!" _

For a second, Castiel is sure that the walls have trembled.  
He seems genuinely uncertain of what to do; the instructions received are quite messy, and he even points that out.

_"It's contradictory reasoning." _

It's not that he doesn't notice the veins throbbing in his brother's temples, it's just that it doesn't seem relevant to him.

_"Shut up and return to work!" _

_"And Melis-" _

_"LEVI!" _

His chief screams and, immediately, an elegant woman, with light brown hair and pale skin, probably originally from North Europe, appear. She speaks in a severe and solemn tone of voice.

_"Yes, Sir?" _

_"Take this tick ball out of here!" _

_"Please"_ Castiel, intrudes _"Bring Melissa to my car, my secretary will give you the keys, low down the windows a little and give her some food, if it's possible."_

Levi nods, but from the delicacy with which she takes the kitten to herself, it's clear that she will not throw it the cat on the street.  
Plus, Castiel knows her well, she's the less grumpy of the Levi twins, so he smiling a little relieved, saying bye to Melissa with a tender caress.

Meanwhile, another head had pop-up from behind the glass door, watching the scene with an amused grin.

_"Jeez, Michael, you should start drinking chamomile"_ he laughs scornfully _"ever thought of doing yoga? They say it relaxes the nerves."_

_"Shut up, Balthazar!" _

_"See, that exactly why you should seriously considering doing some yoga, Mike!" _

Michael sighs, running out of patience, and on the verge of a hysterical crisis, lightning bolts flash in his eyes; if the looks could electrocute, Balthazar would have already burned even if it doesn't seem to matter to him at all.

_"Perhaps an intravenous injection of valerian could be more helpful." _

_"GET BACK TO WORK OR I'LL FIRE YOU ALL!" _

Michael's reproach is thunder that shakes half the office, except the two employees in front of him.  
Castiel is still too concerned for his new cat destiny for caring about his oldest brother's anger issues, and Balthazar finds it all too hilarious to take it seriously.

And that's it.

Just another typical day in the Shurley's "Divine Creations S.A." factory and offices.


	2. Normal day, not so normal people

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Ruth is like being part of a horror movie, in where the two psycho killer streets have crossed the same path, and now they found funny torturing and scary every other human being together.  
> In the audience, someone is on her same page, but, on the other hand, most seem quite amused.  
> "Go for the kidneys," Lucifer ordering, "Dark Web pay well for them"  
> And if before was just a though, now Ruth is sure that these two are psychopath escaped from an asylum.  
> ****  
> "I bet he's looking for Dean"  
> Gabriel hears the redhead in front of him, says, with a tone of voice that is moderately worried and, at the same time, slightly happy and impatient to see where all this will could lead.  
> He suppresses an unmistakable grin, hiding his face behind the plastic cup, full of coffee with extra sugar, letting sarcasm slipping from his lips.  
> "No shit, Sherlock!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what to say, but I do want to say something.  
> This thing isn't working, probably because I'm not a fanny person, don't know.  
> Anyway I would like to keep writing, it's constructive with quarantine boredom and to improve my English knowledge (even though I know I'm not good at all, sorry about that)  
> I feel the need to say thanks to anyone who has and is reading! I hope this chapter isn't too much of a shit!

The sun shines upon the four-level building, warm rays that filter through the windows paint thin lines on the walls, wrapping the rooms in a pleasant yellowish light that conveys a sense of calm or at least it should, but nothing is as it should be in the "Divine Creation S.A." Company.

_ "She's already dead!" _

_ "I have to save her!" _

Loud voices echo in the conference room on the ground floor. Confusion and chaos rule sovereign, someone chuckles, and someone shakes head resignedly.

A woman, with short curly grey hair, stand behind a young redhead, whose back is bent on the ground and the arms engaged in pressing against a rigid chest; a man places a hand on her right shoulder like he's trying to persuade her of stop doing whatever she's doing.

_ "She's dead!" _

_ "No! Luna!" _

The young lady falsely cries, like a lover forced to see her other-half dead on the ground, on a dramatic movie, and the man weakly squeezes his fingertips against her shoulder, patting to console her.

_ "You've done your best!" _

It's precisely a movie scene.

It's like watching two cops, or something along that way, bent over a corpse while the victim's girlfriend cries desperately for her dead lover.

Embarrassing silence comes from the audience, sitting on chairs pressed against the wall, where dumbfounded, stunned, and perplexed eyes stare at the scene improvised by abysmal acting skills.  
And it could be bothersome to be rejected so much by the public if it were actually a real performance, but the truth is that this isn't a play, it's a First Aid Course.

And the corpse on the floor is just a mannequin; it doesn't even have the legs or arms, only a torso, and a horrible khaki t-shirt.

The older woman pulls gray hair strands away from her eyes, wedging them behind her small ears, coughing in the vain attempt to capture the attention of those present in the room.

And a masculine voice, slightly cracked by restrained laughter, screams from the second row of chairs.

_"Well, her life wasn't cool, anyway,"_ he states, _"you will go on!"_

_ "How can you be so cruel?" _

Fake indignation color her intonation, but a smile trembles between her pressed lips.  
Balthazar shrugs his shoulders, molding the lips into a smile of equal fictitious indifference and showing clear disinterest in the displeased face of the older lady.

The man near Charlie nods in agreement with what the other said, he raised eyebrows, snapping the tongue to his teeth, about to state an undeniable fact.

_"Right! No arms, no hands,"_ he points the indexes to the mannequin, _"means no sweet pies and hamburgers, what a horrible life!"_

That's the statement, which sounds logical in his mind. He truly believes it.  
Dean's so sure about that that he even turns to face the older woman, who is desperately looking for more attentive looks, among others present.

She searches into the first row of chairs, and she finds the eyes of Sam, who's sitting disconsolately near a quietly chuckling Gabriel.

He's visibly embarrassed by their kinship with Dean, who's addressing him a proud look as if he's waiting for the well-deserved logical approval, and Sam closes his eyes, so sharp that wrinkles branch out from the sides to the temples. In this precise moment, it's clear to everyone in the room, he's hoping that a hole opens under his feet where he can sink.

_"And what about the legs?"_ a more deep masculine voice, from the second row of chairs, asks _"legs aren't less important than arms, I mean a life without legs ar-"_

_"But above all,"_ another voice, of uncertain provenance, interrupts the speech, _"why it's a woman?"_

_"Cause I'm a lesbian, duh!"_ Charlie clarifies, whit a fierce look, _"Get over it!"_

_ "You got a problem, Raphael?" _

Dean's adds, looking indignantly and protective, like is about to defend his friend's right to be free to be whatever she wants.  
And before that a debate can begin, the older woman interrupts inhaling deeply, then exhaling a single scolding that sounds like the warning of an elementary school teacher against inattentive children.

_ "That's not the point, young man-" _

Unfortunately for her, she chose the wrong words.  
She doesn't even have time to finish the sentence that suddenly a male voice, rises from the crowd, start singing without even too much intonation, but with a profound belief.

_ "There's no need to feel down" _

He stands up, reveling himself, looking for his brother, sitting a few chairs behind him, and Balthazar immediately grasps the silent request, showing palpable harmony with Gabriel's thoughts. Imitating his brother, he rises with a euphoric leap, responding to the song, singing him too.

_ "I said, young man" _

And then, both, with perfect coordination, almost like if they had tried the choreography millions of times, turns to the mannequin, indicating it and singing in unison.

_ "Pick yourself off the ground" _

Without even thinking about it, as if it were the only appropriate thing to do, Charlie does exactly what the song says. She picks up the mannequin, squeezing it with his left arm, holding it close to her side; while starting dancing.

Dean just laughs genuinely amused, while his friend's voice joins the singing chorus, much to the disappointment of the elderly lady, but a discreet serenity among the audience; someone even begins to follow the rhythm with uncertain applause.

_ "I said, young man" _

It's now evident that the older woman doesn't know anymore what to do.  
She's almost certainly questioning her choice of life, like why she's here? Why does she keep bothering to instruct those uncivilized employees?

And while the improvised concert keeps going, like if it's the most normal thing to do during a, undoubtedly, relevant First Aid Course, the now tired of everything, probably of the whole World, older woman whispers to herself.

_ "I hope Ruth is doing better" _

**********

Ruth is not doing better.

Indeed, Ruth's situation is definitely worst.  
Between the dried room and the confusion generated by half-disgusted and half-amused screams poor Ruth's mind is begging for mercy.

_ "What are you doing!?" _

That's the only thing that she manages to say while watching petrified and seriously upset a grown-up man stabbing, violently, and then tear apart the mannequin torso with a huge knife; previously extracted from under his black sock.

_ "He's an organ donor" _

Lucifer's voice is unemotional straightforward while pronounces the justification, which, apparently, makes everything perfectly normal. His hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans like it was nothing while monitoring Crowley's work, who confirms Lucifer's word.

_ "And we have no time to waste" _

Obviously!

For Ruth is like being part of a horror movie, in where the two psycho killer streets have crossed the same path, and now they found funny torturing and scary every other human being together.  
In the audience, someone is on her same page, but, on the other hand, most seem quite amused.

_"Go for the kidneys,"_ Lucifer ordering, _"Dark Web pay well for them"_

And if before was just a though, now Ruth is sure that these two are psychopath escaped from an asylum.

She watches them horrified.

Fortunately, this mannequin it's not the realistic one; she can only imagine how things could've gone otherwise, although Ruth prefers not to think about it at all.

_"That's not how you are supposed to act in the presence of a man passed out"_ Ruth can say, after a long silent moment of astonishment _"you should give first aid, checking heart rate and breathing and then proceed to a cardiac massage, if necessary, while calling 911!"_

Predictably the right thing to do doesn't convince those present, and a lady with long dark brown hair complains about it with extreme conviction, crossing her arms over her breast; she atonal pronounces herself.

_ "In an emergency, you have no time to all of this! The passing out, it's destined to die, so why bother?" _

_ "Exactly! That's why we go for the organs, Ruby" _

What kind of conversation is this?  
Could it be that all the escaped asylum patients found themselves working here?

_"And only after we can, eventually, call the 911"_ Lucifer explains, like a professor proud of his students _"and, kids, remember to provide a plausible excuse for, well, everything"_

Ruth is even more concerned than before.  
It almost looks like Lucifer is now in charge of the course, who's not more a First Aid Course but a How To Get Away With Murder kinda like course.

The only reason why she, like other volunteer nurses, keep to accept such work, moreover for free, it is solely due to the guaranteed accrual of bonuses in their workplace.

_"Why didn't they send Sarah here?"_ she almost whining to herself, _"why me?"_

Funny enough that Sarah, in the conference hall, surrounded by improvised singers and dancers, is equally regretting accepting this job.

**********

After an hour of Musical Course, in the conference hall, the nurse has decided to leave as fast as she can; with an excruciating headache.  
So the First Aid Course ended one hour earlier than expected, leaving the employees free to do a more extended break.

Most of them have opted for returning to their respective working station, chiefs departments and CEOs on the fourth floor; lawyers and accountant on the second and third floor; customer care and marketing workers on the first floor.

It's an implicit balance between employees.

Each has a specific status, and as if it were a kind of implicit rule, they tend not to mix; this has been so since the times of time, older employees say.

Sam never understood why, neither Charlie or Gabriel.

Dean, on the other hand, has a theory about it. This particular theory involved his past relationship with a certain chief of the department for environmental protection and ecological systems.  
And Dean has concluded that the reason for this division between employees is due to the fact that those on the upper floors are all a bunch of dickheads.

Sure there are exceptions, very few to be honest, but still the major of them are just bags of dicks, full of themselves. 

Demons, sometimes, seem better than them, and that's means a lot!

Dean wonders how his brother manages to endure his colleagues. Then he remembers how many times he listens to him complaining for hours and understands that no, not even Sam, one of the most patient human beings, can tolerate them.

That's why, right now, Sam is sitting next to him on a circular table, near the wall, below the second window present in the first-floor break room.

_ "Less boring that what I expected!" _

Not a surprise that Gabriel is here too. He's part of the small circle of employees of the upper floors who aren't entirely assholes, just partially.

Sam rolls his eyes, blowing a slight smile.

_ "She will never return" _

_ "Like the rest of the nurses of the First Aid Course" _

Charlie clarifies, putting a plat of donuts in the middle of the table while sitting at Dean's right, who now has eyes only for the sweets.

_ "We never saw the same, every year a different one" _

She adds, grabbing one of the donuts before that his friend and Gabriel can start a war of glances veiled with threats to get the biggest donut, the one stuffed with chocolate.

_ "That's because we're acting like children" _

_"How boring you are!"_ Gabriel says, without taking his eyes off the plate, _"live a little, Sam!"_

Of course, the gang leader of the confusions justifies their childish actions.  
Charlie smiles broadly, biting the donut, staring interestedly at the hands of the two contenders hovering over the plate of sweets. Then Gabriel abruptly lifts his head, looking somewhere unspecified and slowly enunciating words.

_ "Oh, looks like Cassie is here too!" _

The old trick, Gabriel is so predictable, and yet Dean falls for it anyway.  
Looking for the point where he naively believes he can find him and Gabriel laughs triumphantly, grabbing the donut like it's a victory trophy, waving it in front of the face of the loser contender.

_ "Cheater!" _

Dean blows discontentedly, like an offended child, contenting himself with an empty donut. There's something unclear in his look, out of the corner of his eyes, he's still searching for the unnamable ex, and Gabriel doesn't miss the opportunity to provoke him.

Perhaps it could even turn out an efficient way to, finally, understood why these two eternal love-birds have broke-up for what, the sixth, eighth, time? So he, pretend casually, let escape from his mouth a provocative sentence.

_ "Says the expert!" _

Sam's shoulders tense, carefully studying his brother's facial expression, who changes from slightly annoyed to deeply pissed off.  
Sam nudges Gabriel's side, tries to shut him up, or at least makes him understood that this kind of speech is taboo.

Even Charlie, who's usually is a massive fan of the show called _"Dean and Castiel are fucking bad at feelings, and they must put their shit up together"_ stop smiling. She turns slowly towards her friend, observing him almost worried; because she knows how things have gone and how terrible Dean is in reasoning about feelings or, even directly, deal with it.

And now that the silence has become burdensome, Gabriel seems to notice that maybe, just maybe, he has exaggerated a little.  
He clears his throat, biting the donut, though he didn't say anything; he doesn't know what to say. After all, he's too involved in both sides, plus he's seriously tired of this ridiculous situation between his brother and Dean.

He suspects that they are all three tired as well, but they pretend nothing for who knows why. Predictably, in fact, Charlie tries to bring the situation back to the beginning, pointing at the plate in the center of the table, as if nothing had happened.

_ "Anyone want the last one?" _

_ "All yours!" _

Sam also clumsily tries to return to the light chatter of before. But his eyes are still fixed on his brother, and there is a slight veil of concern to darken them.  
Anyone would expect Dean to react in two possible ways.

First, get up and go away, says anything, or nothing.  
Two, act like he hasn't heard and reached out for grabbing that donut with avid greediness.

To no surprise, Dean opts for getting up, but he does say something.

_"Need more coffee,"_ with a weary voice, _"to deal with you, douchebags!"_

And as Dean leaves walking towards the coffee pot, Sam and Charlie's eyes move to Gabriel; disappointment is evident in both looks.

He prepares himself to embrace the next five or more minutes of attempts to make him feel even more guilty than how he already feels; sometimes, he suspects they tend to forget that despite everything he's not a joking clown all the time.

_ "Was it really necessary?" _

_ "Blame it the instinctive. He served me the stroke on a silver platter" _

He tries to justify himself, colliding with Sam's warning look, who's silently criticizing him bitterly, and Gabriel knows what that look means; he can read it written all over his friend face. He sighs, nodding, and rolling his eyes.

_ "Don't say it, I already know, Sam! But in my defense, ya know that I like your brother, so!" _

He left unsaid the apology, but it's understandable and real.

Gabriel does really like Dean, even in a way that is more respectful than someone might imagine. And perhaps it's because the relationship that existed (and still exists somehow, he's sure about it) between Dean and his younger brother or, maybe, just because Dean is an unavoidable extension of Sam; the reason isn't clear. What's clear is that he truly likes Dean, he kind of liked him since the first time they met, even though the circumstances of the meeting were somewhat bizarre.  
That's why Gabriel genuinely feels a little guilty now.

He should seriously learn to curb his tongue like Sam always says, but now it's different.

It's not like when he makes a lousy trick or a too extreme a joke; this is him attempting to find a sense in the situation between his brother and Dean. Something that even Sam is seriously interested, the only difference is that he's less direct and, therefore, ineffective; to Gabriel's opinion.

His bubble of thoughts it's broken by Charlie's slightly surprised voice.

_"Ahm, well,"_ it's a whisper, almost hesitantly, _"are you a wizard?"_

The redhead indicates, with small clumsy hints, a precise point in the room and two eyes follows the invisible line, draw by her. At the end of that imaginary route, they find a messy dark brown hair, equally disorderly like the white-blue tie, and a lost look on an olive face.

Gabriel forces himself not to smile brazenly satisfied; he imagined that his brother wouldn't miss the opportunity to stay nearby the first floor.

_ "Well, well! Looks like I wasn't kidding!" _

_ "Why he's here?" _

_ "I don't read minds, Sam" _

Gabriel ironically points out. But while on Sam's face there's a puzzling intent to investigate, on his own there's just some sure awareness.

Because Gabriel knows his younger brother, more than he shows, and he knows, for sure, there is a reason, one and only one, for him to be here.

Castiel is quite confused like he was in search of something, or better someone that has a name, a surname, light green eyes, and dirty blonde hair.  
Someone who, that dumb mind of his brother's, has left slide away from him for still unknown reasons. Doesn't matter how many times Gabriel has tried to ask him, in which way or how persistently, his brother never, ever, wanted to explain anything to him.

He assumed that, whatever the reasons were, they were so intimate, or stupid, that their brother was seriously embarrassed or difficulty to explain it.

He vaguely listens to Charlie and Sam's comments, almost totally disinterested, more interested in following his brother's movements.

_ "I bet he's looking for Dean" _

Gabriel hears the redhead in front of him, says, with a tone of voice that is moderately worried and, at the same time, slightly happy and impatient to see where all this will could lead.

He suppresses an unmistakable grin, hiding his face behind the plastic cup, full of coffee with extra sugar, letting sarcasm slipping from his lips.

_ "No shit, Sherlock!" _

They say that nothing in this world is guaranteed, but Gabriel knows that there are exceptions and, one of them is the fact that Castiel's orbit is naturally attracted to Dean's gravitational force.

And, for what Gabriel knows about life itself, that's enough to make him become a teenager devoted to romance garbage, soulmates, as they call it. And whenever he looks into his brother's eyes when he speaks about Dean and everything in between, he sees sparks coloring the blue with the purest love that Gabriel has ever seen.

And while spying on them carefully, he confirms to himself that, once again, they will be back together later this month or maybe the next; sure before the end of the year.

_ "Are you two up for a real bet?" _

**********

_ "I'm touched!" _

Lucifer's eyes are fixed on the large cloth banner hanging in midair, hooked on one side to the door jamb, which gives access to the corridor, and on the other to a corner of the opposite wall.  
The words are written in bright red paint, big enough to be legible, and the maniacal care with which the cloth banner has been hung make them even more evident.

_ "This is an intervention" _

And this, honestly, he understood for himself. He certainly doesn't need Michael to tell him, in that smatterer tone moreover. His was a rhetorical question, but it's not a surprise that his older brother doesn't catch it.

_ "Really? Tell me more; I'm all ears!" _

Even though they're not brothers by mother, and not, in this case, means none of them literally, in return, they have inherited the sarcasm from their father; the only sure thing they have in common, few other things unite them.

However, sarcasm isn't a trademark that, apparently, each of them has in the DNA; Raphael, for example, doesn't have it.  
He blinks, stepping forward, not a letter in his hands, just a small piece of paper.

_ "You're a dick, stop it with the fire craze during work hours" _

That's it.

Essential and synthetic.

It's funny, and really, the fire thing is just an exciting pastime to deceive work boredom.  
Lucifer's eyes glance again at the red words painting on the cloth banner, while Michael's haughty voice fills the room.

_ "Not dear Samael, your name isn't Lucifer, you're not the Devil, you're not made of flames, so stop playing with fire. Last month we were forced to use all the extinguishers in the factory, and the replacement costs are high. Stop it." _

That he isn't the Devil is debatable.

If you ask some workers, they all would agree that he is Satan, some others would even statement that comparing him to the Devil is an insult to the Devil itself.  
In his personal opinion, Satan should be flattered to be compared to him.

And the so-called accident, a trifle, by the way, Michael is the usual exaggerated, was a bet with Crowley that he couldn't lose it.  
Not that this means it will never happen again, there's always a bet to win down in Hell, and most of the time doesn't exactly agree with the company's security measures.

And for which concern his real name, isn't his fault if their father was obsessed with Biblical names; he just chose one more suitable for him, and he would appreciate if they could, at least, be so kind to respect his choice.  
Some of them understand him, like his little brother, who, clearing his throat, utters atonic.

_ "Lucifer" _

He grins at Castiel, who has the decency to address him correctly to much disapproval of the two other brothers.  
Raphael simply snorts annoyed, while Michael coughs contrariety, sending a sever glance at the little one of the family.  
Back in days, Castiel would have bow his head and silently apologize to the older brothers.

As a teen, he was that kind of boy, observant and loyal to duty and to respect every command of the older brothers, but then things changed.  
Castiel grew up, and some rebellious sparkles colored his eyes; Lucifer takes credit for this, even though everybody knows that he doesn't have anything to do with it.

And now Castiel isn't famous anymore for obeying to the elder ones, something that Lucifer, secretly, likes about his little brother who, indifferent, keep reading the letter.

_ "your fixation with fire is out of control; flames are quite dangerous, you could hurt people. Stop playing with fire at work" _

A thing that never changed, however, is his younger brother's tendency to state the obvious. And he's so serious when he talks, so composed and, at the same time, almost uncertain that you're never sure if he's kidding you or if he's earnest; so amusing to watch.

Lucifer wink at him, murmuring a slow lip that looks like _"no promise"_ then he turning his attention to Balthazar, who shrugged his shoulders.

He's so annoyed by this aura of seriousness and so out of place; that Lucifer isn't the only black sheep of the family is a sure thing.  
In Michael's opinion, which is the same as Raphael because they're both equally presumptuous, except him, the rest of them are all black sheep.

Balthazar, for example, is too attached to pomp, extravagant things and the amusements of life, and too little serious to deserve respect, in Michael's austere opinion.

Lucifer, obviously, disagrees.

There are things that he appreciates about Balthazar. Maybe because they're both the same age (strange, but not so odd considering the family in which they've grown up) or perhaps it's because, when they were children, he, Balthazar and Gabriel used to be a compact trio expert on jokes and carefree mess.  
Over time, of course, things have changed a bit, but in truth, certain situations always remain a bit what they were original, though if not so evident.

Balthazar stands there, without even a piece of paper, just one single lineal phrase, says with an extremely annoyed tone of voice; he exonerates himself from the situation.

_ "I didn't even want to come. They forced me!" _

Absolute honesty, and sincerely Lucifer appreciates it.

It doesn't necessarily mean that his brother isn't interested, maybe he's the only one who trusts his survival instinct. Sure, they're not the wild trio anymore, and more then one time, Balthazar pointed out to him how much he was against his lifestyle choices. However, he still knows him well enough to know that Lucifer would never risk becoming a cooked chicken.

That's why he has the dignity to admit that this intervention is ridiculous.  
Not like Raphael, who doesn't lose the opportunity to insult him (not that Lucifer cares) or Michael, who's just worried about costs and nothing else.  
Balthazar's honesty is clean water in an ocean full of shit, like the well-marked and loud Gabriel's voice.

_ "Luci, yeh shut up Mike I call him whatever I want!" _

He literally wrote it, foreseeing the sure complaint of the elder of the brothers.

Lucifer has to admit it, Gabriel is a genius.  
He always was, since childhood, a master in tricks, not even him was able to compete, and totally disrespectful of the older brothers' authority since teen years.

He was, still is, what people could define a free spirit.

That's why Gabriel never went along with Michael or Raphael, too much hyperactive and playful, too womanizer and too little diligent. Truth is they never, ever, understood anything of them, especially of Gabriel.  
They still don't understand a single thing about him. That's why they watch him like he's some disrespectful stranger while he keeps reading with serious playfulness.

_ "you know that trick where you make flames appear from you're hands? If yes, and I'm pretty sure you know it, you have the responsibility, in quality of big bro, to teach me! Chicks are mad for fire games! Be my sensei!" _

There is an almost childish cheeky grin on Lucifer's lips; he does know that fire trick. He learned it when he was fifteen, though now it seems simple and somehow lame too, but he can easily teach it to Gabriel, who has a unique predisposition for almost all types of tricks.

Obviously, the playful atmosphere is ruined by Michael's rigid seriousness, even before the start.

_ "Grow a little!" _

He always does this annoying thing, to admonish everyone like a bossy leader, who believes he has the whole world under his command.  
He's so selfish, an authoritarian tyrant, a control freak with an evident superiority syndrome; he doesn't even try to hide it; on the contrary, he manifests it with proud meticulousness.

Michael always acts as if he's the boss of all of them; he gives orders, demanding to be obeyed without granting the possibility of replies.  
With Raphael, it works fine, since he's a boring human being, devoted to obedience and absolute respect for anyone who proclaims himself an authority; and all he does is be the faded photocopy of his older brother. Michael's influence has ceased to affect all other years ago.

And so, what was meant to be just a family reunion for discussing an insignificant, perhaps silly thing, turns into a heated debate, like always.

Raphael blindly supports every single Michael's dictatorial complaint. At the same time, Lucifer hisses poisonous statements, mixed with an abundant dose of cynical irony, with Gabriel occasionally on his side and, at other times, on the side of none of the three.  
And a dull murmur, tired of having to endure all this eternal confusion, it's overlooked, but not enough to be inaudible.

_ "Where you keep the whiskey? Anything else is fine, as well!" _

Balthazar's question it's practically useless; he knows that nobody will answer him; especially the homeowner. If he wants to drink, he has to look for alcohol himself.  
He leaves the family discussion scene, even too routine, dragging his younger brother with him; fingers tightened around Castiel's left arm.

It was like this since childhood.

And sometimes, just sometimes, it would be nice if this were not the only accurate picture of their family, a family that has never been one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said in the beginning notes, I will probably change the "style" a bit. It means that I will try to write something more "serious" and a little angst; just 'cause, I don't know, I feel it better in that way.  
> So I swear I'll try to keep the characters more IC possible, even if it's a difficult task for me. (It always is, since their not mine, and I guess a bit of a change is inevitable, for adjust them in other kinds of stories and scenarios)  
> Anyway, I ask for forgiveness in advance!  
> Thank you for the patience and attention; any advice or critics is appreciate!

**Author's Note:**

> If someone has arrived here, it could mean that you have read my awful story and so I have to thank you!  
> You anonymous, mysterious, kind stranger.  
> I hope you like it, even a little.  
> And if you want to throw me tomatoes or other vegetables, please, feel free to do it in the comments.  
> Thanks again, really!  
> PS: Oh and yes, The Office and Parks & Recreations are my primary references.


End file.
